The Bloody Butterfly
by Kung-fu lepricaun
Summary: An murder mystery fic, with OCs and some hints of shonen ai. Don't like, don;t read. Oh, and flamers will burn in hell. I promise, it will get more interesting. Please, tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is good.
1. Chapter 1

The Chapter One:

_Calyptra eustriga (the Vampire Moth)_

Disclaimer: I don't own Godchild, nor dor I own any of the characters (although I'd _love_ to own Lord Cain and Riff...) I'm putting in a few OCs of mine, so be warned, if you don't like that...

Lord Cain Hargreaves sighed, desperately bored.

He was stretched across his large, padded couch, bored out of his skull. The party season was long over, and he didn't even have any macabre little mysteries to entertain him. The book he'd been reading -which, at first, had looked quite informative, if not interesting- had turned out to be almost tearfully dull. And he couldn't even go outside for a stroll, for it was raining.

There was a knock on the chamber door. Something that could end his boredom? Hopefully.

"Come in," he yawned, in a monotone voice, not bothering to look up as the door opened.

It was Riff.

"A letter has come for you, sir," he said.

"At this time of night?" Lord Cain was puzzled. "Who from?" He sat bolt upright.

Riff walked over to him, presenting a silver platter to him, on which was a single envelope.

"There's no name on it, other than your, Milord," said Riff, straightening up, once his master had taken -or, rather, _snatched_- the letter off the platter.

Lord Cain turned the envelope over in his hands, examining it. It was actually a stiff, card-like, cream-coloured sheet of paper, sealed with a rather old-fashioned wax seal.

"This is all so very curious," he murmured.

"Milord?"

"There's no stamp, and it was delivered on a weekend, and very late on a rainy night, no less," he glanced up at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room, to confirm the time. It was almost midnight.

He knew he really _should_ go to bed, but he'd been having trouble sleeping, recently...

"It obviously wasn't delivered through the postal service, and someone also obviously wanted to make sure I received this; but, why...?" he trailed off, his gaze travelling back down to the wax seal, from being fixed on his valet's face.

The symbol that had been stamped into the wax when it had been still soft looked vaguely familiar, as though he'd seen it in a dream, or more likely, as a small child, and then he had then pushed it into his subconscious until it had resurfaced, just then... No... That didn't seem all that likely, either, for he had had a very isolated childhood. Then, if that was still the case, that he had seen this symbol as a child, then it may, perhaps, have something to do with his father...  
Lord Cain shuddered in horror at the very thought.

**_No,_ he decided, ****_I must have seen it somewhere else. Perhaps on a sign, outside a shop... Yes, that seems likely... _He hoped...**

Wherever he had seen it before didn't particularly matter to him at that moment, although it probably should have, the fact that he _had _seen it before was the thing that mattered to him.

The symbol that he'd been staring about, had been musing about, that had been pressed into the wax, was a butterfly with a torn wing, with Nordic runes encircling it. Somehow, it seemed reminiscent of magic, of the occult. In his opinion, anyway.

"Riff, could you pass me my letter opener, please?"

Riff passed him a short, silver knife, with a tapering blade, from a little dresser in the corner, near the door, without a word.

Lord Cain used the blade of the letter opener to peel off the seal, without cracking it: He had a feeling that this symbol, within the wax, was significant, somehow, and he fully intended on keeping a copy of it, and this was simpler than sketching it.

The letter was an invitation, written in a strange, spidery, jagged hand. It read:

Dear Lord Cain Hargreaves, you have been invited to a masquerade ball, at the Bloody Butterfly Theatre. Don't be late.

P.S- Bring a guest.

There was no signature, no return address, and no other information.

Lord Cain was intrigued.

He stood up, "Come, Riff, we must get ready for the ball."

"Ball?" asked Riff.

Lord Cain handed him the invitation.

"You want me to come, sir? Wouldn't Mary Weather want to go?"

"It's far too late at night for her to be up and about, and you _are_ my valet, after all," Lord Cain replied, nonchalant.

**_This may turn out to be an interesting night, after all_, he thought, as he and Riff left the room.**


	2. Chapter 2

-1 Chapter Two: _Hepialus humuli (the Ghost Moth)_

Disclaimer: As I earlier said- I don't own Godchild, or the Count Cain Saga... Wish I did... Anyway, sorry if it takes a little while for this to become interesting. Enjoy! And please R&R.

"Riff, do you still have the letter?" asked Lord Cain, as they sped through the night in a hansom cab.

"Yes, sir," replied Riff; "It's right here." He extracted the letter from within the depths of his waistcoat.

"May I look at it again?"

Riff blinked. His master was being unusually polite tonight.

"Of course, Milord," he handed the letter over.

Lord Cain examined it again. And again, he got the feeling that this letter was saying more than its author had, perhaps, intended it to. If only he could understand what that message -the message that it seemed to be nearly conveying to him- !

"That symbol.." he murmured. It was so familiar, and yet, he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it before. It was so maddening!

_**Perhaps it's got to do with the incident at the Butterfly Mansion...**_

__If that was so, then his father would most certainly be involved in this, too. He prayed to God that this wasn't the case.

_**It could be a trap**_, he thought; _**but, my curiosity demands that I go. **_

__He was drawn, helpless, to where this invitation was instructing him to go.

Like a moth, drawn to the flame.

He sighed resignedly. The only way he would be able to find out what this was all about, why the butterfly insignia was so very familiar, was by physically _going_ to this party.

_**I hope that Riff doesn't get hurt, if this is indeed a trap, because of my reckless curiosity.**_

__The only sound in the cab was that of Riff and his master's quiet breathing; and the only sound outside of it was the quiet clip-clopping of the horses' hooves upon the cobblestones.

The night almost could've been called silent.

_**No wonder**_, thought Riff; _**It's the middle of the night.**_

__His master was silent and obviously was in deep thought, staring at the letter. Riff didn't dare disturb him; but, yet, he had to wonder what was going through his young master's mind.

He had been surprised, at first, that his lord had wanted him to come with him, to this party, instead of, perhaps, Oscar -who'd been hanging around the house a lot lately, and was an obvious annoyance to both Lord Cain and Mary Weather- Maybe this would be a way to lose him for a while? Or maybe Crehador, instead of Oscar or himself. Knowing the opium parties that that man frequented, he _couldn't_ have the sleeping patterns of a normal person.

Lord Cain folded up the letter, handing it back to Riff.

"What's going through your mind, Riff?" he asked, though not unkindly; his tone was more curious than anything else. It was, however, a rather peculiar question, and quite oddly worded.

Riff told his master of his thoughts.

"Crehador? Why on Earth would I want that charlatan to come to a party with me? And Oscar... Short of him coming along and having a pretty lady catch his eye -which would be fortunate, because then he might forget about Mary, at least for a while-, there's absolutely _no_ reason for him to come along," Lord Cain said.

He then gave Riff a stern look, reminiscent of the ones Riff had often seen Mary Weather give her elder brother. "You are my valet, and I wouldn't rather that anyone else were coming with me. You're coming, and that's final," he was being authoritative, but in the child-like way that often had the effect of making Riff smile.

"Besides," continued Lord Cain, "you've come to parties with me plenty of times, before now. Why would it bother you now, of all times?"

To tell the truth, Riff wasn't quite sure of that, himself. It was just that, somehow, this party felt different...

The carriage stopped.

"Ah! We're here!"

Riff smiled again. No matter how likely it was that this was a trap, no matter what the possible danger -which seemed to radiate from the invitation, itself, as though danger were a palpable, physical force-, Lord Cain seemed to be _excited_ to be there.

_**So, perhaps, if that is that case, maybe I shouldn't worry so much**_, thought Riff. He trusted Lord Cain's judgement enough for him to believe that he wouldn't be acting like this if there _was_ an overwhelming chance that this was a trap.

And yet...

_**"Curiosity killed the cat..."**_

__These words, along with the slight, but definite feeling of menace that Riff got, seemed to hang in the very air, mingling with the fog...


End file.
